


Nightmare

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Blood, Dark, Dark Character, M/M, Non Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-27
Updated: 2011-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:30:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson has strong desires that he tries to suppress, but Holmes becomes one of his victims.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmare

My dark passenger had been eating away at me for weeks, polluting my mind with all sorts of depraved notions and sick desires. My very heart had finally been swallowed up. It must have been, or I would have felt something when I approached Holmes's bed in the dead of night, knife in hand. Instead, I was numb.

He did not wake until I had pulled a blanket over his face, shoving some folds into his mouth, and held the blade up to his neck, threatening to slice him open from the jugular. Without emotion, I noted that he was well-behaved, shivering but not foolhardy enough to attempt any resistance. I was glad I'd been able to restrain myself long enough, waiting until he'd been sufficiently distracted by a case that he hadn't had proper food or rest in days. If his sleep had been any lighter, I might not have managed this.

I took my time removing his sleeping attire with the knife. It'd been six months and twenty days- give or take a couple of hours- since I'd last touched male flesh. I could only imagine how handsome the flat plane of his chest would have looked in dim candlelight. All I could do was touch it; I would never see it bare, not in any intimate setting. This was the closest I had ever gotten and would ever get. Disgust stirred within me, breaking the stillness of my mind. How could I want that? I was a vile sodomite, and no matter how long I went, I would always give in to my nature again.

My fingers slipped down the soft trail of hair that began at his navel, wandering towards his member. The loathing within me was worsening; usually my lust silenced it long enough to complete the act, but this time it was not enough. Something was different about Holmes; he tempted me in a way that was not purely carnal. That was why I'd hesitated so long, that's why now I was more furious than ever. He was the one man I might have been able to love, and yet loving him was the most depraved possibility that I could imagine.

The knife drew perfect lines down his chest. I could not have him. I ran my fingers down the slippery parallels on the perfectly muscled torso. I could not want to have him. His breath was choked, ragged beneath the blanket. There was nothing for us; I was cursed with this affliction and he was my latest victim. When my hand went up to take the cloth off of his face, I felt dampness.

I should not have, but I did the unthinkable. I lay there next to him and I held him. It would have been suicidal, putting myself in such a vulnerable position, had it not been for two facts. One, Holmes must have already known who it was moments after he awoke. Nothing escaped the man. Secondly, there was something else there, something to him that I did not comprehend. Something about the way he clung to me, the way he inhaled as I touched his neck, it was not right for a man who'd just been assaulted.

If it had not been so proscribed by law and nature and the Holy Bible, I would have kissed him. But as we embraced I could not put it out of my mind the acts that I'd intended to do to him, and I soon pulled away.

I left as I'd entered, no more than footsteps pacing through the blackness. In the morning he would hide all the evidence and he would be too afraid to confront me. I would act towards everyone as I had before; I'd go back to buying lads to satisfy myself. He and I would never touch again but the scars on his flesh would linger for years. I was destined for hell but as I returned to my own room, nicking my tongue as I sucked the blood off my knife, I felt perfectly cold again.

\---

Holmes wept long after Watson had departed. He knew in this repressive society that they would never be intimate but at least he had been able to dream of it. Now, even when he would see Watson again without flinching, even when they resumed their banter and fraternal partnership, even when the days returned to normal, he would be afraid of the dark. Watson's touch could never again be a fantasy; it would always be a nightmare that visited him on the occasions he could manage sleep at all. He could no longer simply assume that Watson did not want him. No, Watson's hatred of his desires simply outweighed any love he could have held for Holmes. Holmes understood it perfectly now and wished vainly that he did not.


End file.
